Professor Slughorn came back down the corridor about ten minutes later (with the wolfsbane, unfortunately), and Remus immediately stood up and exited the classroom, keeping his distance carefully. "I got it," Slughorn said, grinning, holding the offending plant in his left hand. Remus' throat suddenly closed up.

"I can see that, sir," he choked. "Er, I'm going to..."

"Does it really affect you that much?"

"Yes, sir." Remus knew that it was terribly wicked of him, but he wished that Slughorn would just shut up already and put away the wolfsbane, for goodness' sake.

"Oh." Slughorn frowned. "What about in class? Does it affect you then? It seems to be pretty potent, even when it's not out in the open like it was on the first day."

"Usually, the jar it's kept in is heavy enough to eliminate any problems, but it bothers me a... a little." Remus' face flushed red in admitting his monstrous handicaps. "Only when I go into the storeroom, or when a previous class was working with it... the scent tends to linger. But it's not a big deal or anything, Professor. Please don't worry about it."

"Okay, if you're sure," said Slughorn. "Get back to your dormitory, now. Your friends mentioned it's your birthday, so... have a good one!"

"Thank you, sir," said Remus, and he left as quickly as possible.

He Knocked on the dormitory door, and James said "Come in!" far too dramatically.

"Hi," said Remus awkwardly, perching on the edge of his bed. He hoped with all his heart that James had not figured it out... being so averse to the presence of wolfsbane seemed to be a dead giveaway. But no, James looked perfectly ambivalent about the whole situation. There was no way he knew.

"Slughorn took away your present before you could even see it," James complained, "but I got you wolfsbane. You know, to help keep your mum under control."

"My mum is not a werewolf," said Remus through gritted teeth. Then he realized how wolf-like he must have looked and unclenched his jaw, forcing his face into a relaxed position. He didn't want to give anything away. "She's not. I promise you."

"It makes so much sense, though!"

"I promise, James! I swear! She's not a werewolf!"

"Ugh, fine," said James, though it was clear that he didn't believe Remus quite yet. Remus reflected that he probably never would... at least, not until James found out the truth for real. "How d'you think Slughorn knew that we were the ones who stole his wolfsbane, by the way?"

"You told him," Sirius accused, his eyes widening as his head snapped to face Remus. "That's why you left so suddenly!"

"I needed to use the loo," said Remus, trying to keep his emotions under control. He needed to channel Professor Questus: emotionless, clever, and calm. He could do that, couldn't he? "Besides, how would I even know? You and James and Peter kept it a surprise, and you didn't even show it to me before I left. There's no way I could have known."

"Yeah, you're right," admitted Sirius. "James didn't even tell us; if he had, I'd've discouraged it. His mum's not a werewolf, James."

James scowled. "I'm not convinced."

Remus shook his head. "I swear, James! I swear on..." Remus frantically scanned the dormitory for something he could swear on. "I swear on my potions essay," he decided. "It's a really good essay, and I swear on it. What else do you want from me?"

"The truth," said James.

Remus glared at James, and James glared back. There was a brief moment of silence as they each fantasized about murdering the other.

"You know... I still have a present," said Peter quietly, breaking the murderous silence.

"Yes! A present!" Remus immediately stopped glaring Killing Curses at James. "Thank you, Peter. Thank you so much. For both the present and the change in subject."

Peter produced a package—about the size of Remus' hand—and handed it to Remus. "I'm not sure if you'll like it. I just thought that maybe it would help. I sent home for it a couple of weeks ago."

Remus untied the piece of twine and opened it slowly. It was a small plush rectangle. For the life of him, Remus could not figure out what it was. "Thanks, Pete," he said, confused. "Is it... a bookend or something? A pillow?"

"A pillow? That's a stupid present," commented Sirius, and Remus shot him a look.

Peter shook his head. "Not a pillow, but you're close. You have to en... engorge it. With Engorgio. It's a mattress—I thought maybe, when I saw you sleeping in my bed the other night, that going back to sleep in your bed made the nightmares worse. So I got you a tiny bed, for when you wake up." Peter's face was pale, so it always got red very easily—just like Remus'. Now, it was the color of a ripe cherry. "Maybe I'm wrong? If you don't like it, I can..."

"It's brilliant," Remus breathed, feeling a bit choked up, but Peter didn't hear him and kept talking.

"I can send home for something else, or you can use it as a pillow..."

"It's brilliant," Remus said a little louder. "Really, really excellent. Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Are you just being nice? You don't have to be nice. It's your birthday."

"No, I..." He pointed his wand at it. "Engorgio. Engorgio." Nothing happened. "It's no use. I'm too happy to do magic right now." Remus turned it over in his hands—then, without even thinking, he stood up and hugged Peter fiercely.

Which was weird, and not just because they were awkward preteen boys.

Remus had never hugged anyone before. Sure, he'd been hugged, but he'd never been the person initiating one. Sometimes with his parents... but not terribly often, now that he thought about it. But here he was, hugging Peter, and Peter was hugging him back and patting him on the shoulder awkwardly, and then Peter lost his footing and toppled over, and now they were both on the ground laughing. Overall, Remus would rate his first hug-initiating experience a twelve out of ten.

Remus stood up and picked up his wand, which had fallen on the ground when he and Peter had tumbled directly into the wall. "Sorry," he said, "but no one's ever given me a mattress for my birthday before. Thank you."

"Will it help?" said Peter, his eyes big.

Remus thought about his sleepless nights, being watched by an ever-present, ever-threatening window. He thought of waking up, thinking for sure that he'd heard something scratching and sniffling at the glass. He thought of the times that he just had to lie there, in a bed so similar to the cursed bed in Cardiff. Going back to sleep in the bed that had been his mental torture chamber all night always gave him a horrid feeling in the pit of his stomach.

But now Remus didn't have to fall asleep next to a window when the memories were particularly bad. Thanks to Peter, Remus could get up after a nightmare and switch beds. Would it solve the problem? No. But it would probably help.

"Yes," said Remus. "Yes, it'll help ever so much." He turned to Sirius. "Hey, Sirius, you know—Tarantulas Being Cuddly and all—you can use it too, if you ever have a nightmare."

"I don't have nightmares like you," said Sirius. "Mine aren't horrible. I don't often wake up crying."

"I don't cry," said Remus stubbornly.

"You do," James said. "You definitely, definitely do."

"Anyway," continued Sirius (impressively ignoring the fact that Remus was currently beating James with a pillow), "mine aren't horrifying, they're just uncomfortable. They're... reminders. Of home. Reminders that life isn't as great as it seems and all. But mostly they're..." He trailed off, and his face went red. That was an odd look on Sirius, who was usually so brash and unapologetic that he never seemed embarrassed about anything. Remus let the pillow fall to the ground.

"Yes?"

"I'm scared of blood," Sirius admitted. "After seeing James with his arm hurt, I mean. I'm terrified of blood. I don't know why, but I am. Just thinking about it makes me feel all tingly."

Remus's first instinct was envy. After all, he couldn't afford to be frightened of blood. But that was a bit rude of him, so he pushed down the thoughts. "Makes sense," he said. "So you dream about..."

"Getting hurt. One of you getting hurt. You know."

In a way, Remus' dreams were similar. But, as he reminded himself, it was him that did the hurting. He was the evil one. It was different.

"So we're all afraid of something," James mused. "I'm afraid of cockroaches. Remus is afraid of parties and crystal balls. Sirius is afraid of blood. And Pete's afraid of..."

"Everything," Sirius chortled, and James gave him a high-five. Remus was going to defend Peter—he really was—but Peter was laughing along, so he didn't bother. He didn't really want to, anyway. He felt that he was putting his friendship in danger every time he did.

"Anyone up for a game of Exploding Snap?" said James abruptly. Remus, to his own surprise, accepted the invitation... even though the noises hurt his ears dreadfully. It was wonderful to be with friends, and Remus couldn't have asked for a better birthday.

Remus eventually managed to enlarge the mattress to a reasonable size, and he slept in it that night (despite Sirius' taunts). He placed it on the floor by his bed and covered himself with his Gryffindor blanket. "You look so small down there! I could just step on you!" Sirius said, but Remus paid him no mind. It was lovely to sleep without the window's watchful eyes. The next few nights, he slept in his own bed—but it was comforting to know that the mattress was there if he needed it.

Tuesday dawned, and he met up with Professor Questus in the afternoon to duel. "Slughorn mentioned it was your birthday on Friday," Questus said. "Expelliar—"

"Protego," said Remus, blocking the charm. "Yeah, it was."

"Twelve years old, hm? Stupef—"

"Protego. Yes."

"And—Flipendo—"

"Protego—"

"He said that Potter gave you a very... Expelliarmus— interesting gift."

Remus' wand clattered out of his hand, and he bent to pick it up. "Yes, sir—Protego! Hey, that's not fair!" He rubbed his stinging wrist with disdain.

"If you think that anyone is just going to watch you pick up your wand in the middle of a duel and not do anything about it, then you're sorely mistaken." Questus put his wand in his back pocket and sat down. "Take a break. Very good, by the way. You lasted quite a bit on that one. I think that's a record for you."

Remus beamed. "I think so."

"Being able to talk and duel is an important step, you know. Means you're falling into a rhythm."

Remus liked rhythm. "Like poetry?" he asked.

"Absolutely not. Somehow, I sincerely doubt that reciting something from your ridiculous well of poetic knowledge is going to sufficiently distract an attacker."

"It might."

"It won't. Death Eaters aren't typically the type to enjoy Tennyson, believe it or not. This might surprise you, but most aren't. You're unfathomably weird. Anyway... why did Potter try to kill you with the wolfsbane, exactly?"

"It wouldn't have killed me," said Remus timidly. "James thought that... well, James has this stupid idea that I control my mum on the full moons—you know, when she's a werewolf, he says. And he thought the wolfsbane would help, so he nicked it from Slughorn's office to give to me..."

"That's good. Means they don't suspect yet."

"Or maybe they do, and that was a test...? If so, I'm afraid I failed."

"What did you do?"

"I... well, I noticed James coming down the corridor, and I recognized the wolfsbane... so I told Sirius that I had to use the loo and left. Very suddenly. I think he bought it, but I can't be sure. Then I went to Slughorn and asked him to confiscate it."

"That's the best thing you could have done in that circumstance," said Questus. "Wasn't ideal, but there was really no good way out of it, was there? Quick thinking. Well done."

"Thank you, sir. But still. How long do you suppose I have before they figure it out?"

"Well, if you just tell them that your mother is a werewolf, then you'd quite possibly have the full seven years. If you still stubbornly refuse to do so, then I'd say... maybe a year? A few months? I can't really make an accurate guess. But you don't have long. It is rather obvious, in my opinion—I'm surprised they haven't figured it out already. They're quick, Potter and Black."

Remus exhaled. "That's fine. I didn't expect to stay long, anyhow. But it is a shame, isn't it?"

"A downright travesty," said Questus, twirling his wand between his thumb and index finger and frowning deeply. "I don't often meet preteens as willing to learn as you are, so it's not fair at all that you shouldn't get to do so at the best wizarding school on the continent. Not fair at all. And if people would just see sense, then you'd have no problem attending—even if everybody knew. You're twelve, and they're right stupid if they're afraid of a frightfully skinny twelve-year-old with a pet toad who memorizes poetry for fun. Idiots."

"You didn't always like me."

"Well, I was an idiot, too. And I was never afraid of you—only on my guard, which you have to admit wasn't a bad idea. Just in case."

Remus laughed a little. "Well, I was afraid of you," he admitted.

"Yeah. I could tell. Let's get back to work. Shield Charm, nonverbal. Go."

Shortly thereafter, Remus got a summons from Professor Dumbledore. He figured it was about his plans for Easter break. Since Remus was a bit more high-maintenance than other students, his plans affected the staff's plans as well—so it was important that Dumbledore knew what Remus was planning on doing.

It wasn't difficult for Remus to decide what he wanted to do. After all, none of his friends were staying. Sirius was staying with James over Easter, and Peter was going home.

Besides, Remus missed his parents quite terribly.

"Cockroach Clusters," he said upon arriving at Dumbledore's office, but Dumbledore swung the doors open and let him in before he could even finish.

"Come in," Dumbledore said grandly. "We have much to discuss." He was wearing a very bright orange robe, and Remus giggled at it in spite of himself.

He sat down in the wooden chair across from Dumbledore's desk and looked at the portraits, which were covered tightly. He wondered what they'd say if Dumbledore were to uncover them... and then he decided that he didn't want to know.

"Biscuit?" offered Dumbledore, and Remus shook his head. "Well, then. My first order of business is getting an update on the Life of Remus Lupin. How are you doing? Are the nightmares receding?"

"Yes, sir."

"And your friends are doing all right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, on to the matter of—"

"I want to go home."

"Come again?"

"Sorry." Remus was a bit flustered. He took a deep breath. "I assumed you wanted to talk about Easter break."

Dumbledore smiled. "Your guessing abilities are well-honed."

"I want to go home, if that's all right. I know the full moon is on the twenty-ninth, but I can handle it—the last couple weren't too bad, and one bad moon won't kill me..."

"If you're certain. Your parents actually sent me a letter asking that I inform you that they'll be perfectly happy to let you stay."

"Do they... do they want me to stay?"

"I believe we had this conversation last time, Remus. They want you to be happy. That is, after all, what every parent wants for his or child."

Except Sirius', Remus thought.

"Think about it, Remus. If you had a werewolf child who wanted to come home for the holidays, wouldn't you be happy to let him? Even if it meant giving up some of your time? And wouldn't you be happy to let him stay if he so desired?"

Remus shrugged half-heartedly. "It might be kind of difficult for me to take care of a child after the full moon, so I'd suggest he stays at school. But I'm never going to have children, so it doesn't really matter."

"That is not what I meant. Put yourself in their shoes. They'll be happy to see you. They think that it is easier for you when Madam Pomfrey cares for you afterwards—since she is an experienced Healer with many more resources than they have—but I am sure they will not mind doing it themselves. They have, after all, done it many times before. Parents are generally selfless."

"Then I want to go home," Remus said again. "It's lonely here without my friends, and I haven't seen Mum and Dad since January."

"It must be difficult, being away," Dumbledore mused. "After all, you have spent every second of your life up until now with at least one of them, haven't you?"

"Mostly, sir." Truth be told, before Hogwarts, Remus could think of only one time that his parents had not been within shouting distance. It had been right after Remus had been bitten: his parents had left hospital to take much-needed showers and do some cleaning (Remus only realized now that it was likely because they didn't want him to see the blood and broken glass and such), and Remus had stayed with Susi. She'd told him a story. Remus didn't remember the story, but he thought he remembered it being about cats.

Other than that, Remus had always been around his parents. Always. Until Hogwarts.

"Then it will be very nice to see them again," said Dumbledore. "I'll let them know that you'll be coming home, and you may ride the train with your friends on the twenty-sixth. I'm afraid Madam Pomfrey doesn't much like the idea of your traveling so far so close to the full moon, but as long as you stay out of trouble—" Dumbledore winked slightly— "then there shouldn't be any problems. Now, I have one more question. This one, unfortunately, may be substantially more unpleasant."

Remus cringed a little. "Yes, sir?"

"Professor Questus has alerted me of your friends' suspicions regarding your mother?"

"Yes, sir."

"Hm. As I am sure you are aware, they are very bright."

"Yes, sir."

"How close are they to finding out the truth, in your opinion?"

"Professor Questus says maybe less than a year. Sirius believes me, but James is going to keep prying. And Sirius and Peter do whatever James does. I don't think there's much time left at all."

"So, when they do inevitably find out the truth... what are your plans?"

Inevitably. The word made Remus feel a little sick. Even Dumbledore, who was typically optimistic, thought that it was inevitable. "I suppose it depends on how they react, sir."

"And how have people reacted in the past?"

"Well... I've never told anyone, really. They already know. You already knew, and the staff already knew when I came, and the Registry already knew... I've never seen the actual moment that someone close to me finds out, I don't think. But people are either afraid of me or hate me. Fifty-fifty either way, although sometimes it's a mixture of the two."

Dumbledore frowned. "Not everybody, Remus. I don't recall being afraid of you or hating you."

"You're... you're Albus Dumbledore! Why would you be afraid of a werewolf?"

"I appreciate the compliment, but my point still stands. Madam Pomfrey certainly didn't hate you."

"But she was a little tense, wasn't she? The first time she met me?"

"Your parents?"

"My dad grew up with prejudices, so he was hesitant at first. My mum didn't care, but... she's a Muggle!"

"I think there's a good chance that your friends won't care either."

"Sirius hates werewolves," Remus said. "He's said horrible things. He says I'm 'too nice' to be related to a werewolf, he says that they're all terrible, and he thinks they should be executed. And James isn't going to pick me over Sirius—they're basically attached at the hip."

"Well," sighed Dumbledore, "it seems to me that your view of the world is very... set in stone." He steepled his fingers and stared at Remus thoughtfully. "When I was getting the law repealed, I realized a few things."

Remus nodded. He couldn't even imagine the Ministry's reaction. He did hope that the incident hadn't hurt Dumbledore's good graces with the Ministry.

"First, I realized that it is very difficult for the average person to overcome a mindset. It's like trying to steer out of a rut—and I assume I can use that analogy since you grew up with a Muggle parent. People, in general, are stubborn—we do not easily erase facts from our minds, and we don't often even consider other options. There are plenty of good people who think that werewolves are dangerous with or without a full moon. That is just what they have been taught as children. Do you understand?"

Remus nodded. He thought of how Professor Questus and Professor McGonagall had taken great pains to overcome their first impressions of the eleven-year-old student werewolf. He understood. He'd probably been afraid of werewolves before he'd been bitten, too... and regardless, he was even more afraid of werewolves after the attack.

"The second thing I realized," continued Professor Dumbledore, "is that people can make themselves believe that they are doing the right thing when they are, in reality, not. Now, moral values are... subjective. You know, morals are a favorite topic of discussion of Professor Questus—we've had many a debate on the matter. But I digress. In my mind, at least, it is never acceptable to hurt another person, be it a human or otherwise, unless..." Dumbledore stopped, and Remus got the feeling that he wanted to say more. But he didn't; he only shook his head and smiled. "Unless nothing. It is never acceptable."

"It's acceptable sometimes," Remus said quietly. "Isn't it? If someone's going to hurt someone else. And that's what people think I'm going to do."

"That's true," said Professor Dumbledore. "And that is precisely why morals are subjective. But, having spent a few months with you, I can be certain that this issue, at least, is not subjective at all. You are not dangerous—unless it happens to be a full moon, of course. That is a fact, and anybody who thinks otherwise is entirely wrong. But they believe that they are doing the right thing in hating you, so it's hard to fault them in good conscience. You understand this as well?"

"Yes, sir. Of course. I agree."

"Of course you do. The third thing that I realized is that you, Remus Lupin, have known those things for far longer than I have. I know prejudice like the back of my hand, of course. I am a very old man, and I have seen it everywhere: be it lineage, family, species... or even a silly school House. But no one has ever hated me because of what I am. What I've done, perhaps, but never solely because I exist. You, on the other hand, have been told by society for nearly your whole life that you don't deserve to live, yes?"

Remus nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

"And of course that has an effect on a young mind." Dumbledore stared at Remus even more intensely, and Remus was a little afraid that he was looking past his skin and into his skeleton.

A long moment passed. "Sir..." Remus started, thinking that they were done.

They weren't. "You understand things, Remus. You understand that the world is likely to hate you. You understand that people are going to look at you and see a werewolf—nothing more, nothing less. You understand that people's hatred is not necessarily their faults, though unfortunate nonetheless." He stopped and handed Remus a lolly wrapped in yellow paper. Remus didn't want to accept it, but he automatically did because it felt like good etiquette. He didn't eat it, though, he just put it down on his lap and kept listening.

"What you don't understand," said Dumbledore, "is that, even though many people are like this, not everybody is. Not everybody believes that werewolves are dangerous—morals wouldn't be subjective in the least if everybody believed the same thing. Sometimes, Remus—" Dumbledore gave Remus that searching look again— "it seems to me like you believe that people should be afraid of you."

"I am dangerous. You really can't argue with that."

"Only one night a month, and anyone who knows anything about werewolves should know that. Your friends may be put off when they find out, yes, but not everybody will be. You'll find someone who doesn't care. Now, I don't suggest that you go around telling people, but..." He chuckled. "You need to be a little more trusting. A little more hopeful. Otherwise, the dark fantasies that you create in your own mind will eat you from the inside out, and you won't be prepared for the positive—only the negative. Do you see what I am saying?"

Madam Pomfrey had told him similar things, but Professor Questus had not. Hope was dangerous, wasn't it? Questus seemed to think so. Remus would rather expect the worst and be pleasantly surprised than expect the best and be let down. "Yes, sir," he said, but he didn't agree with Dumbledore at all.

Dumbledore was silent for a moment, and then he nodded. "Please enjoy your last few days before Easter break, Remus. And take all this into consideration, at least. The bottom line is: give us all a little more credit—that includes yourself. The world is going to change someday, and I hope that it will within our lifetimes."

Hadn't Professor Questus said something a little like that, actually? What was it he'd said? That very first day when he pulled Remus over after class and lectured him sharply. You should give us teachers a little more credit instead of seeing everything as discrimination.

As strange as Remus felt admitting it, that made him feel better. He tended to agree with Professor Questus. Even though Dumbledore was one of the most clever people in the universe—maybe even the cleverest—Remus liked Professor Questus. If Questus believed it, then Remus could, too. Was it possible that Remus could hope, at least a little, that his friends would like him anyway...?

No.

No, he couldn't, because every time he did, he actually started hoping. For real. And the more realistic alternative—that they'd hate him forever—was just all the more painful when compared to the idealistic shimmer of hope. No, Remus couldn't hope, even if Questus thought he should. It hurt too much.

"I understand, sir. I'll try," Remus lied.

"It seems that you'll be overcoming a mindset along with everyone else, then," said Dumbledore, even though Remus most certainly would not be. "I only want the best for you. It seems in our best interests to undo the effect that such a hateful society has had on such a young boy. Now, why don't you go back to your dormitory and get some homework done? I imagine your teachers are scheduling tests before Easter break."

"Yes, sir," said Remus, and he turned to leave.

"And Remus... if you should ever need help..."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

Remus walked halfway down the corridor before he realized that he'd left the lolly on the chair.

That was okay. He never really liked lollies anyway.

AN: One month and five days until Christmas! Time to break out Mariah Carey...?!